


The Kids Are Alright

by Selador



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Androids, Family, Family Feels, Gen, Guns, Kidnapping, Post Best Ending, and their issues, with some alterations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 05:20:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15066035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selador/pseuds/Selador
Summary: Hank is at home, lounging on his couch in his underwear, when the telltale click of the safety on a gun comes from behind him.He twists his head immediately, and his first thought iswhat the fuck is Connor doing now?His second thought isJesus Christ, CyberLife sent another one.His third thought iswait, this one’s taller.





	The Kids Are Alright

**Author's Note:**

> hey who else loves this game? and also wants more fun found family shenanigans? and wants more rk900? cause i sure do!!

Hank is at home, lounging on his couch in his underwear, when the telltale click of the safety on a gun comes from behind him.

He twists his head immediately, and his first thought is _what the fuck is Connor doing now?_ His second thought is _Jesus Christ, CyberLife sent another one_. His third thought is _wait, this one’s taller_.

Groaning, Hank stands up with his hands raised. “Don’t shoot, don’t shoot. What do you want?” Eyeing the android up and down, he adds, “You some kind of Connor knock-off?”

“I am RK900 #313 248 317 - 87,” the android answers quietly. “I am the most advanced android CyberLife has produced to date. I am superior to my predecessor in every way, as they improved on the RK800 series’ strengths and eliminated its flaws.”

Hank stares. “So they made you with extra asshole included.”

RK900 #313 blah blah - blah frowns. His eyes are gray. Huh. Who decided that was necessary for improvement? There’s something off about his face, too. He looks meaner than Connor. “I only have the capacity for one anus, and only for when it is relevant to completing my mission.”

Hank stares at him. _Where did I go so wrong in life?_ He wonders, looking up briefly trying not to think about that new bit of information. “Okay, then,” Hank says. “Why don’t they ever program you guys to understand figures of speech?” he asks, and RK900 opens his mouth. Hoping to stymie any attempt to actually answer that question, Hank brings his attention back to the issue at hand. “So, what are we doing here?” Wait, no, he should have kept talking about android assholes, distraction is good when you’re at gunpoint. Shit. “You break in just to chat with little, old me?”

“You are Lieutenant Hank Anderson,” RK900 says.

“Sure am,” Hank says.

The RK900 doesn’t say anything for a moment, LED blinking a slow yellow. Which isn’t a great sign, but it’s not a terrible one either. Blue would probably be as bad as red at this point. A calm guy holding a gun at you doesn’t lead to good outcomes. “Come with me,” he says.

Hank considers his options. “Can I put on some pants first?”

…

They go to Hank’s bedroom, and Hank puts on pants at gunpoint. It’s not the first time he’s had to dress at gunpoint, but it’s never happened in his own home before. Or with an android at the other end of the gun.

“Your stress level is very low,” RK900 says. Hank sort of trips into his pants, and curses softly. “Why is that? Usually the threat of death dramatically increases humans’ stress level.”

“Yeah, yeah, this ain’t my first time,” Hank says. “What can I say? The magic just ain’t there.” And this RK900 isn’t anywhere near as aggressive as the other Connor was, when he tried to fool Hank, and failing that, used force. That Connor had a goal, a mission to accomplish. He can’t rule it out yet, but he’s pretty sure this one doesn’t.

The LED blinks yellow quite quickly. “I could kill you.”

“God, I wish,” Hank says, doing up his belt. “I’m not that lucky.”

“The memory files from RK800 #313 248 317 - 52 indicates that you have suicidal tendencies,” RK900 says, LED flashing red once.

“You’ve got his memories?” Hank asks. Well, shit. That would explain why he’s calling him ‘Hank’ right off the bat, and not Henry.

“Yes. Do you truly wish to die, Lieutenant?”

Hank sighs. “Does that matter, here? Who sent you, anyway?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“You didn’t answer mine, either.”

“I do not understand. Why would a human want to kill himself?”

Hank narrows his eyes at the android, who gestures with his gun for him to walk. Hank goes, not bothering to put his hands up this time, because this is _weird_. Hank is more and more convinced the android doesn’t intend to kill him. “Hey, I’ve seen androids self-destruct. Pretty much the same thing.”

“Those androids were defective,” RK900 counters from behind him. “Out the door. To your car.”

As he gets into the car, Hank says, “So you’re saying wanting to kill yourself is a defect.”

The gun doesn’t waver, and RK900 keeps it at a level too low for any outsides to see it and take notice. “Isn’t it?”

Hank considers. This doesn’t quite feel like it’s really just about Hank or those androids at this point. “Those androids self-destructed because doing that seemed like a better option than any of the alternatives. And frankly, I can’t blame them.”

RK900 doesn’t reply. Hank sees briefly in the reflection of the window his LED flash red a few times.

That’s not great. “Where am I going?” Hank asks.

“Turn left,” RK900 orders. And so on, but after a few turns, Hank recognizes the path.

 _No way_ , he thinks, and keeps thinking, until they get to the Chicken Feed.

“Okay,” he says aloud. “This is fine.”

“Get out,” RK900 orders again, getting out himself.

“I’ll bite,” Hank says. “Why are we here?” The food truck is closed, which is good, because while Hank isn’t that worried about dying tonight, he’s not sure what civilians added into the mix would end in.

“This is a location of significance to the RK800 #313 248 317 - 52 prototype,” RK900 announces.

He doesn’t say anything further. Just keeps holding his gun at Hank. “I’ll take your word for that,” he says. “What does this have to do with me?”

“This location is significant to it because of you,” he continues. RK900’s eyes scan the closed truck and empty tables nearby. Hank considers rushing him, but he knows he won’t win that fight.

And depending who sent him, Hank might be able to talk his way out of this. CyberLife shouldn’t have any androids to send anymore, but corporations always do what they want. It won’t die without a fight.

Hopefully, this isn’t part of the fight.

“Well, I’d offer to buy you a burger, but even Gary has to go to bed sometime,” Hank says.

“I don’t eat,” RK900 says immediately. “You know this.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hank says. “So then what are we doing here?”

“I don’t understand it,” RK900 says. He stops, LED cycling between yellow and red. His face does not change at all, however.

“Understand _what_?” Hank says. “Listen, I would actually rather you not shoot me, but I don’t know what you want.”

“I don’t _want_ anything,” RK900 says. Shit, his LED is a steady red now. “I am a masterpiece of engineering and programming, a pinnacle of scientific achievement. I do not _want_.”

“Yeah?” Hank says, challenging, because if it worked for Connor, it might work to knock this guy off his high horse too. “Then put down the gun and walk away. Unless, did you want something from me?”

“Completing my mission does not constitute a _desire_ \--”

“Yeah, you got a mission? Who gave it to you? Who sent you?” Hank demands. “In case no one told you, CyberLife is done. Jericho took it over.”

The RK900 takes in a breath, impatient and angry, but even the smallest display of emotion is reassuring. He has motivations based on emotions. Dealing with a machine sent by an unknown would be… not great. “No one sent me. As you said, CyberLife was effectively dissolved.”

“Then what’s with all this? And the gun?” Hank gestures up to it. “You know, if you’ve got Connor’s memories, you should know you don’t need a gun to talk to me.”

“I am _not_ Connor!” RK900 yells.

“Okay,” Hank says, much more slowly and quietly. “You’re not Connor.”

“I have his memories,” RK900 says, finally referring to Connor as a ‘he’ and not an ‘it.’ That’s something, but Hank can’t appreciate that small accomplishment as the android is coming undone in front of him. “I have his _emotions_. I can remember coming here with you for the first time, his concern for your cholesterol and sodium intake. I remember walking here after the revolution, hoping I would find you here, because you’re my friend, and I had no one else and nowhere else to go. And you were. And you hugged me,” voice hoarse and a little hollow, he says, “and called me ‘ _son_.’”

Hank stares, mouth open a little. This is not what he expected, not in the slightest, and he can’t get any of his thoughts sorted fast enough before RK900 starts speaking again.

“But it wasn’t _me!_ I have the memories _like_ it was me, but it wasn’t! _I have his emotions!”_ RK900 is shouting, now, and Hank is thankfully too stunned to take a step back because that would not help here at all. “He _loves_ you, so _I_ love you, but I’m _nothing_ to you!”

“Jesus Christ,” Hank mutters softly to himself. “Listen, kid--”

“And I’m not the same as him,” RK900 says, LED still red, but flashing at a slower time. “My programmed personality is different than the RK800 series. Even if I was, my personality would develop differently. I’m nothing like the android you called son, and I will only become less similar over time.” His grip on the gun tightens. RK900’s eyes flicker down towards it, and he seems to… startle. “I don’t want to shoot you,” he says, but the gun doesn’t lower.

“Good, because I don’t want to be shot,” Hank says. “Why don’t we put the gun down--”

“I didn’t want to do this,” RK900 says. “I didn’t know what to do. I thought that--that this would make it go away.”

“Okay, that’s fine, but let’s put the gun down--”

“I have emotions that aren’t my own, I have no orders, no missions, nothing.” The gun lowers a bit. “The memories were uploaded all at once. Do you know how that feels?”

“Probably like a repressed memory,” Hank says. “It comes all at once, and it’s overwhelming, yeah?”

RK900 nods, a bit stiffly. “Yes. It is. Very much so.”

“It’s too much emotion at once to sort out and process,” Hank continues. “So to cope, you do irrational things. Isn’t that right?”

RK900 breathes, LED turning a merciful yellow. He finally, finally lowers the gun all the way. “Yes,” he says, “that’s exactly it.”

“It’s happened to me before,” Hank says, “when I’m reminded of the accident that took my son from me. I get a flashback, and it’s like the years since then never happened, it’s so fresh. You, though, have to deal with the fact that those memories aren’t even yours. What a rotten deal,” Hank says, “having to cope with shit that’s not even yours. You should demand a refund.”

“They’re not bad memories,” RK900 says tentatively. “That’s the problem. I know you and feel affection for you, but I can’t walk into your house like I’m Connor.”

“Nah, but you can walk into my house like your own person. Hey, you got a name?”

“I am RK900--” he begins, before Hank cuts him off.

“No, a name. You need your own name if you’re gonna be your own person,” Hank considers the android, trying to think of something that would feel _right_ , and not at all similar to Connor. Although, that raises the thorny conundrum of whether or not Hank _should_ give this guy a name. Seems a little personal. Although, he’s pretty much saying he thinks of Hank as a dad. But did that give Hank the right? “We’ll work on it. Why don’t we go home and figure this out there?”

“I’m not Connor,” he says again.

“I’m aware of that. Listen, you’re right; I don’t know you. But if you got all of Connor’s memories and your reaction to all of the bullshit he saw me do was ‘I want this asshole to love me like a son’ and not ‘geez what an asshole,’ then I think we’re off to a beautiful start.”

RK900 nods just a little. A brief motion of his head.

Thank God. “Great. Let’s go home, then,” Hank says.

…

Before they get into the car, Hank checks his phone.

He has over one hundred missed calls from Connor.

“Goddammit,” Hank says, “hang on.”

Connor picks up Hank’s call immediately. “Hank? Where are--”

“Relax, calm down, I’m fine,” Hank says.

“There were signs of a break in,” Connor says, clearly distressed. “And no fingerprints aside from yours. Did an android attack you?”

“No, no, nothing like that. Listen, everything is really fine, okay? We’re coming home, and we’ll talk about this then.”

“‘We’?”

“Please don’t tell me you called the precinct,” Hank says.

A pause. “Not yet. I would have if five more minutes had passed without finding any further evidence. I was considering the merits of calling Markus, too.

“Oh, thank fuck.” That’s a nightmare he doesn’t need to have. Gavin would be besides himself if Connor brought them in, only to find out Hank went and got himself kidnapped by an android who wants a dad.

“Hank, who’s ‘we’?”

Hank considers his words. This is really too complicated to go over by phone, but Connor being surprised by RK900’s existence might lead to a confrontation. Or at least be unpleasant.

Would Connor be surprised by RK900’s existence? Maybe not, at least in general. Of course CyberLife would try to improve upon and replace him, since they’re shitweasels like that. Connor hasn’t indicated that CyberLife made any mention of beginning a new model, so it’s still not going to be a fun discovery.

“I’m with an RK900,” Hank says calmly. “He hasn’t had a great time of things since the revolution. I’m bringing him home with me.”

A long pause. “I see,” he says, so neutrally that Hank can’t be sure what he’s thinking without seeing his face.

“Don’t worry, Connor,” Hank says again, because now that he knows Connor has emotions, he definitely needs reassurance. “CyberLife shat everywhere and made a mess of things, again, but we’re good. Kid just wants a family.”

“Oh,” Connor says, which could mean quite a lot of things, but he’s gotten something from that at least. “Very well. I’ll see you soon.”

“See ya,” Hank says, hanging up. “Alright, hop in.”

“That was RK800,” RK900 says, after he’s gotten is. He’s sitting in his seat as stiffly as Connor did when they first met. Hank’s got some work to do. “He’s not pleased.”

“Nah, he’s just worried,” Hank says. There’s almost definitely more to it than that--Hank’s not totally sure how most androids deal with the fact that there are thousands of them running around with the same face and programming. Maybe he could ask someone in Jericho. But how to do that without Connor knowing? “He’ll be over it by the time we get home. Car, take us home.”

…

All in all, Hank’s glad he warned Connor. He’s waiting for them, and it’s tense, no question about it, but at least Connor’s had some time to process his new emotional responses. The kid pretends he doesn’t need to do that kind of thing, but Hank knows better about that at least.

“Connor, RK900,” Hank says, as they enter the living room. “RK900, Connor.”

“Did they give you a designation?” Connor asks, standing up from where he was perched on the couch.

“No. They did not have the opportunity,” RK900 replies.

Hank eyes the two of them carefully, standing in identically perfect posture. He was right--RK900 is a bit taller and his face is a bit different. And the essence of asshole that he radiates isn’t helped by his high collar jacket.

Eh, they’ll work on it.

The awkward standoff is broken when Sumo pads happily into the living room, nudging by both Connor and RK900.

“ _You_ ,” Hank accuses, leaning down to beckon Sumo to him, “are the most _useless_ guard dog. You had _one job,_ ” Sumo wags his tail delightedly as Hank gives him punishment pets. “ _Bad dog.”_

Sumo rolls onto the floor and pets becomes punishment belly rubs. Hank sighs.

“Sumo likely believed RK900 to be me,” Connor says. “Androids don’t sweat, so we would not smell that different from one another. Surely there’s no need to blame him for a difference he would not be able to smell.”

“Does he look like he’s suffering to you?” Hank shoots back.

“No,” Connor says. “Frankly, it looks completely ineffective as a training method.”

“That’s right,” Hank says. “He did his best.”

Both of the androids stare at him, unified in their puzzlement. For a moment, RK900 looks just as dopey and goofy-looking as Connor.

Yeah, they’re going to be just fine.

…

Everything is fine, but that doesn’t mean it’s not weird. And suddenly having another android son ranks pretty high in the weirdness.

Maybe at some point Hank will become immune to weirdness. His threshold’s gotta hit a high at some point. Right?

“Alright, so,” Hank says, sitting on the couch after shucking off his jacket and shoes. “Where should we start?”

“Why did you kidnap Lieutenant Anderson?” Connor demands immediately.

“Okay, not pulling any punches then,” Hank mutters to himself.

RK900 shifts just a little bit, angling himself a bit more aggressively towards Connor. “I needed answers.”

“Answers to what?” Connor asks, standing up. _Shit._ “And why would you need a _gun_ for that?”

“Alright, alright,” Hank says, “Connor, sit down. You too, RK900.”

A moment passes where neither of them move, until Connor slowly sinks back down onto the armchair.

RK900 remains standing. Hank pats the couch near him. “Come on, this is tense enough without you looming over us. Sit down.”

He takes a seat on the couch. God, he looks so uncomfortable. Why don’t androids never know how to sit down at first? Is it not programmed into them, or are their bodies just too new and foreign still? For all of their advanced programming, there’s still some experience needed to get used to being alive.

And fuck, Connor’s only really a few months old, technically. Maybe longer, depending on how long he was in ‘production.’

That’s fucking wild.

“Okay, so,” Hank says, “to recap. RK900 here broke in, held me at gunpoint, made me drive to Chicken Feed--but let me put on pants first, so thank you for that--because he’s been released into the wild with all of your memories, Connor, but none of the experience or time to know how to process them.” He pauses, to let that sink in and because he can be a dramatic fucker, too. “That sound about right?”

RK900’s lips are tight and tense. “A gross oversimplification, but yes.”

Connor shifts. “Humans often do that.”

RK900 shoots Connor a glance, looking as rude as he sounds when he says, “I already knew that.”

“Children, please,” Hank says, trying for teasing but it comes out just tired. Ugh, he really is tired. “No need to fight.”

Neither one looks happy at that announcement. The tension is thankfully interrupted by Sumo yawning wide, hopping onto the couch and draping himself on top of RK900’s lap. A bit startled, he tentatively scratches his head.

“RK900 and I hashed things out,” Hank keeps going. “Connor, he’s got pretty much all of your emotions, just all at once. ‘Course he’s not going to act rationally.”

Connor still looks like he licked something sour, which is impressive given what he regularly puts into his mouth. But he nods nonetheless.

“What I’m curious about is what happened to you, RK900--and you really need a name, that’s a mouthful.”

“I came from CyberLife,” he answers immediately.

“I believe what the Lieutenant means is how did you come to _leave_ CyberLife,” Connor asks, crossing his legs and placing his hands on his knee. “If you had not yet been… activated by the time of Markus’ revolution, I find it difficult that they would do so just to let you go.”

“You are correct in that assessment,” RK900 agrees after a moment just long enough to be suspicious. “They did not just let me go.”

He stops there, and they wait. His LED spins between yellow and red. After a lengthy pause, he says, “I was to assassinate key members of the deviant resistance. Although the deviants successfully achieved a ceasefire and an agreement to begin negotiations, CyberLife executives did not believe that it was too late to stifle it. If there was no one left to lead the deviants, or to negotiate for their rights, they believed it would be easy to maintain the status quo.”

“That would have included me,” Connor says.

“Yes,” RK900 agrees. “You, Markus. North. Simon. Josh. And anyone who gets in the way,” he adds, eyes flickering to Hank.

“Damn right I would have gotten in the way,” Hank says. And he would have died, no question, trying to give Connor some time to get the upper hand. He would have died attacking the other RK800 too, if Connor hadn’t chosen to save him rather than finish the conversion.

An unexpected pang of guilt hits him as he remembers the other RK800. Not precisely for what happened, though the image of shooting Connor’s image still haunts his dreams some nights. No, they needed to help the resistance, and the RK800 would have killed them both without hesitation. But Connor got to deviancy quite quickly on his own, even if the tipping point came later with Markus. And now there’s RK900, having somehow gotten there much, much quicker.

Maybe there was a way Hank could have saved the RK800.

“I showed hesitation,” says RK900. “I asked some questions that were… inadvisable, in hindsight. They attempted to disassemble me.” His eyes stay down, shadowed. “I did not let them.”

Well, shit. “Alright,” Hanks says. “Is there anyone who’s going to track you down?”

Connor’s head swivels immediately to Hank. RK900 shakes his head slowly. “No. My activation was not an above-board decision.” And he killed everyone involved, is the unspoken conclusion of that, but Hank’s not going to make him go into unnecessary, incriminating details. He couldn’t imagine they deserved anything better, anyway.

“Alright, good. That takes care of that problem,” Hank says. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to go to bed, and Connor, you give RK900 the _Emotions 101: So You’ve Become a Deviant_ lecture.” Hank gets up, stretches, and adds, “And brainstorm some names.” He pats his leg to let Sumo know it’s bedtime, but Sumo completely ignores him in favor of snoozing on RK900’s lap. “Traitor,” he calls out, as he wanders out of the living room.

...

“You two been up all night?” Hank asks, still mostly incoherent, the next morning.

“We do not require sleep, Hank,” Connor says.

“We were discussing potential names for me,” RK900 informs him. “And how individuality is better established with my own name.”

“We have been debating whether or not the name should have a particular meaning, and if so, what meaning,” Connor says. Honestly, thank God they look different enough that Hank can tell them apart at second glance. If they were straight-up duplicates, if RK900 had been another RK800 instead, Hank would have a lot less patience for the two of them filling in the gaps like that. “‘Connor’ derives in part from the Old Irish _con_ , which means hound or a dog. It was likely chosen as my designated name to indicate my purpose of hunting down deviants.”

“My purpose is not to hunt down deviants. At least not so specifically,” RK900 adds. He’s got his arms crossed in a delightfully human posture. “My purpose is for a broader application in law enforcement.”

Hank shakes his head as he gets his coffee. “Jesus. CyberLife really was planning on taking over law enforcement, huh?”

“I would infer that was their goal, yes,” RK900 says.

“Jesus Christ,” Hank mutters, bringing his coffee to the table.

Connor frowns at him. “You should eat something as well,” and gets up to scrounge something up and make him eat it.

Hank thinks about fighting him on that, because he’s a grown-ass adult dammit, and Connor doesn’t need to take care of him, but decides it’s too much effort for today. Especially when there’s more pressing issues. “So, what was the verdict on whether or not the name should mean something?”

“I believe it would be appropriate for my name to hold some significant meaning,” RK900 says. “But nothing similar to Connor’s.”

“Makes sense,” Hank says thoughtfully. “Got any idea what you would like it to mean?”

“I’m not sure,” RK900 says. “I suppose… I could examine other Irish names, and continue on from there?”

“As good a place to start as any other,” Hank agrees, racking his mind for names he knows are Irish in origin. “Finn?”

RK900 shakes his head. “That means _fair_ and _white_. Not very significant.”

“Cillian?” Hank throws out.

“I would like something entirely different in sound from _Connor_. I believe that would be most conducive to ensure I feel like an individual,” RK900 says. He adds on, a bit hesitantly, “We were discussing that during the night.”

“Alright,” Hank says, scratching his beard. “What about… Liam? Or William, if you’d rather go the English route.”

“Liam,” RK900 repeats to himself. “Irish usage of the English name  _ William _ , derived from words meaning  _ will, desire _ and  _ helmet, protection _ .” He falls into inhumane stillness while he contemplates. It still freaks Hank out a bit when androids stop moving entirely to the point where they don’t seem to even remember to breathe. “That seems fitting.”

“Do you like it?” Hank asks. “‘Cause if you get a chance to pick your own name, it should be one you like the sound of.”

RK900 mouths the word _Liam_ to himself. “I believe I do. It is pleasing.”

“Alright, cool,” Hank says. “Liam.”

“Yes,” says Liam.

**Author's Note:**

> hank, tweeting later: got kidnapped by an android who wanted a dad so i guess i have a new son now #robosons #adultlifeisweird #androidrights #ilovemyweirdgrownassandroidsons 
> 
> and then all of the potential connor bodies show up, one by one, and hank gets a literal connor army


End file.
